Mean Girls. Louise Rozett
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seemed to like him, but I didn’t think you’d ever try anything. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d have the guts.”
“If by that you mean that I can’t even stomach the thought of it, then no, I do not have the guts.”
“Whatever, it just figures that you’d do it and immediately come to talk to me about it. You are such a coward.”
I was baffled. I shook my head in disbelief. “What exactly are you criticizing me for? The fact that you think your best friend betrayed you, the fact that I’m too big a wimp to do that or the fact that I’m a little bitch because I’m too honest? Well, throw this on top of everything you’re mad about. Your so-called best friend—” I pointed to myself “—thinks your boyfriend is a disgusting, smarmy sleazeball.”
“Don’t you even—”
“Oh, I’m not done!” My voice rang through the night air. “I think that smarm is contagious, because you’ve obviously caught it. What kind of a dumb girl are you, that you believe your dick of a boyfriend before you believe your best friend?” I turned to leave, but then added, “And when you do realize you’re wrong? Do not even bother trying to make up with me. We’re done.”
I didn’t know why, but somehow I felt better. I had no place in this world, and in some way that was freeing. It meant I had no allegiance.
chapter 20 becca
IT WAS CHRISTMAS BREAK. BECCA HAD PLAYED sweet with Max for a tortuous two months, and kept him with her. By now she’d really convinced everyone around her that they were madly, incurably in love. Including, hopefully, Max.
Max, though still with Becca, was clearly growing less enchanted with her. It didn’t seem to matter, however, because his parents wanted to meet her, and had invited her for New Year’s weekend. Her own parents were more than willing to let her go, since they wanted to spend even less time with her than did Max.
Assholes.
He’d gotten her a Polaroid camera for Christmas. It was one of the old ones that spit out a square picture with the white frame. He remembered that she had mentioned something about how they were the best cameras and always resulted in the best pictures. He gave it to her early so she could take pictures at the boathouse before Winter Break. She’d gotten him a watch because boys like watches. She’d had the back engraved to say Max and Becca, for the rest of time.
Now it was New Year’s, and she sat at the dining room table with Max and his parents, who had introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Holloway. He had a six-year-old brother who had eaten earlier, and she hadn’t met him yet.
She’d hoped they wouldn’t be the Mr. and Mrs. type and more the first-name type who’d joke around and tell her she was so pretty and she could just be charming with them. She could do that. But these parents were like her parents. And her parents didn’t approve of her at all, and seemed not to find her charming.
That was it. She’d be the person she knew her parents wished she had been. All she needed to do was say the opposite of what she really felt.
After a few pleasantries and most of the meal, Mrs. Holloway laid down her fork and asked, “So, Rebecca, what brought you to Manderley?”
“Public school got to be too much, I suppose.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “The people there were just not the type that I like to surround myself with.”
Or she didn’t like who she had become there. Either or.
Mrs. Holloway nodded. “That is a big problem in public schools these days. That’s why we just had to send Maxwell to Manderley.”
Becca nodded. “I’m so glad you did.” She looked across to Max with a smile. He gave a small smile back.
More silence.
“What do you like to do, Rebecca?” Mr. Holloway asked.
She hated when people asked her this kind of question. She didn’t really have any hobbies or anything. “Um … I used to horseback ride when I was little. And now … I don’t know, I guess I hang out with my friends?” She shrugged.
Max’s parents exchanged a quick glance.
“And your father is Mason Normandy of Normandy and Associates, is he?”
“Yes.”
“My brother went to school at Yale with your father. I mentioned that Max was going to have a friend come to visit, and when I said your name, his first question was if you were Mason’s daughter.”
“Fancy that,” she said with a convincing smile. That was not fancy, that was awful. She didn’t want their parents meeting or talking or anything. Her two worlds could not combine.
“Do you plan on going into law yourself?”
God no. “Maybe, but I’m not sure yet. I’m not tying myself down to any decisions yet.”
Mrs. Holloway piped up again. “Do you have any idea what you would like to do?”
Becca took a moment to read Mrs. Holloway. “I’m very interested in volunteering at charity organizations.”
She’d never volunteered to do anything unpleasant in her life. Her most concrete plan was to marry rich. And judging by the expanse of this house, Max was a perfect candidate.
“That’s very honorable. I’m involved in some myself.” Mrs. Holloway sipped her wine. “I find it very fulfilling.”
How could anyone find that fulfilling? But who cared, the parents were totally eating up her lies.
“Max, you’re awfully quiet,” said Becca.
“I’m just letting you all get to know each other.”
“He’s so polite, don’t you think?” She looked from Mr. to Mrs. Holloway. “You’re never this quiet at school. Especially on the weekends.”
Max’s gaze lurched to her. She knew things about him she could spill if she wanted to. He knew that.
“The weekends?” Mrs. Holloway looked curiously at her son.
“She means when we all hang out and aren’t in class. Have to be quiet in class.”
“Oh, that’s not all I mean!” She smiled at him. “You can get pretty rowdy at our parties.”
“Parties?” asked Mrs. Holloway.
She could see a stab of panic behind his eyes. It’s not like he really ever did anything wrong, but if his parents were anything like hers, they wouldn’t want to hear about association with anyone that they might consider to be a bad influence. Except, at this point, Becca’s parents knew she was the bad influence.
Becca had come to Max’s with the intention of solidifying their relationship. Clearly going home with him was a step in the direction of staying together. But suddenly she didn’t care anymore.
“I don’t get ‘rowdy.’”
“Sure you do! Remember that time—oh, that’s probably not good table talk.”
“Go on.” Mr. Holloway looked stern.
“Well, I don’t really know too much. I don’t drink or do drugs or anything, so I usually leave early.”
“Are you implying that Max does?” Mr. Holloway asked. His wife was silent, looking wide-eyed at whoever spoke.
Becca waved a hand. “Of course not.” She sounded as unconvincing as she could.
Max was staring daggers at her, but she ignored it, and took a bite of her mashed potatoes. “These potatoes are so great.”
“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed them. If you’ll